


The Black Hand

by H3llcat



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Assassination Attempt(s), Dark Brotherhood!Hux, Former Lovers - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mage!Ren, Non-Graphic Violence, Skyrim AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 09:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14808467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/H3llcat/pseuds/H3llcat
Summary: Hux is an assassin with the Dark Brotherhood. He serves without question, but is sent on his most trying mission yet.What is the music of life? What is the color of night? What is life's greatest illusion?Contract: Kill Kylo Ren





	The Black Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Sparrowlicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparrowlicious), [kyluxtrashcompactor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyluxtrashcompactor), [giantnarwhal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/giantnarwhal), and [m4t4str3ll4](https://twitter.com/m4t4str3ll4) for talking to me about this idea, looking it over for me, and motivating me to finish something for once!

_-Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.-_

Hux pulls his hood further up against icy flurries biting his cold reddened cheeks, gaze shifting this way and that to check for city guards before slipping up the deteriorating bridge that connects the College of Winterhold to the town at its periphery. He melts into the shadows at the edges of the path, tiptoeing between and over faintly glowing runes of detection and protection laid into the weathered cobblestone. His steps are muffled by soft doeskin soles, the whispers of his leather armor blending easily with the ambience of the beginnings of a winter storm, leaving him no more detectable than a spirit. He pauses at the fringe of the college’s courtyard, the heavy, solemn weight of magicka thrumming in the air demanding reverence long deserved. A shudder trickles unwittingly down his spine.

_-What is the music of life? Silence, my brother.-_

The Black Sacrament was performed by the target’s peer, a petty act borne of jealousy no doubt. Perhaps they felt the target received undue favor, or they were simply tired of being outshined. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, unstable minds often calling upon assassins for an easy end to an imagined problem. But the Night Mother doesn’t judge motive _—_ the money is all the same _—_ and Hux’s only duty is to obey.

_“The contract is for one Kylo Ren, apprentice at the mage’s college north of Winterhold. It’s said he’s—”_

_“Favorite to Arch-Mage Snoke, I’m aware.”_

_The Speaker steps back and lifts an unamused brow, wiry arms coming up to cross over his chest, “I was going to say immensely powerful and growing more so by the day.”_

_Hux bows his head, sufficiently humbled. “Apologies, Speaker. I only mean we’ve had dealings in the past; I know where to find him.”_

_“Good. Get to it then and return to me when you’re done. We’re being summoned more frequently than ever with the current state of things.”_

_“Yes, Speaker.”_

_“Dread Father watch over you.”_

The dormitories for the apprentices are in the Hall of Attainment to the left of the courtyard, the different wings of the college laid out in a circular pattern at its perimeter. The rooms in the Hall are set in a neat row of shut doors, students sleeping soundly, unaware, behind them. There are many, twenty, thirty perhaps, but there is only one he needs. He’s been here before.

He places his gloved palm flat against the splintering oak of the door, leaning in to listen for signs of life on the other side—a whuffling snore, the rustle of blankets _—_ before pushing it open.

It has always amazed him how young Kylo Ren looks in sleep. There is no tension pinching his features into scowls and sneers, no sign of a childhood stolen by powers manifested too early and the corrupt mage who swept in to take him under his wing. His full lips are parted slightly around even breaths, dark hair fanned in a soft halo on the scratchy cream linen of the pillow, finding tenuous peace outside of his waking hours.

Hux sits delicately on the edge of the straw mattress, pulling his glove off one finger at a time before reaching out to brush a stray lock from Ren’s face, touch lingering a moment on a sleep warmed cheek. He looks the same as Hux always remembered, even after all these years, though a scar now bisects his face from brow to neck, disappearing beneath the collar of a simple gray tunic.

_-What is life’s greatest illusion? Innocence, my brother.-_

Dark eyes flutter open, catching the shine of the moon filtering through the tiny slatted window, and, in the same breath, thick fingers dart out to wrap solidly around Hux’s exposed wrist, no sleep grogginess hindering the movement.

Hux doesn’t miss a beat, sliding a dagger from a sleek sheath strapped to his thigh with his free hand, the ebony blade hooked at the end in an elegant curve. He pushes to his knees and slashes down, aim directed at the top of Ren’s head, but the mage rolls out of the way, still not relinquishing his grip. Hux ducks beneath Ren’s sinewy forearm, twisting it at a creaking angle until he is forced to let go, then quickly hops back off the bed one step, two, hunching low in a predatory stance.

“Hux,” Ren’s tone is filled with awe as if he hadn’t almost had a knife in his skull moments prior, a fond smile tilting his lips.

“Yes. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m nearly surprised you remember me.” Hux switches his knife to his dominant hand, adjusting his grip on the hilt with a practiced spin.

“As if I could ever forget you.” Ren sits up on his mattress that is far too small for his hulking frame, dragging a hand through his tangled hair, casual as if he had been woken by the breakfast bell and not an assassination attempt.

“I’m not here for pleasantries.” The mage huffs a laugh that draws the blood to Hux’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. “You think something’s funny, do you? I’m here to kill you, Kylo Ren.”

“I’ve seen you fight _—_ really fight. If you meant it, I’d already be dead.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, or maybe it’s exactly the right thing depending on his motive, for it prompts Hux to action. He closes the distance between them in a blink, one hand yanking a handful of Ren’s hair to pull his head back, the other bringing the knife down towards his neck. Ren is quicker, splaying his fingers wide, and an unseen Force halts Hux’s attack, squeezing bruises into his wrist until he reflexively drops the knife. He struggles against the invisible binds, lashing out at Ren with booted feet, but the mage wraps large hands around his slender waist and throws him back onto the bed as easily as if he were a ragdoll like the sort the village children tote about.

Ren presses his hips to Hux’s to keep him held firmly in place, immobilized completely by his weight and the phantom hands. He looks Hux over, appraising, with that grin again that’s too familiar for Hux’s liking. On the upwards sweep, Ren’s gaze lingers on the the handprint in the middle of his chest, ashy charcoal against wine red leather. He rests his own hand over the mark of the Brotherhood, but affection has turned into something regretful and sour on his face. “Sweet Mother, sweet Mother _—_ ”

“Don’t,” Hux snaps, finding his voice.

“You’re still with them, then?”

“I was never made aware that leaving is an option.”

Ren considers him for a moment, still and thoughtful, before he breaks it all at once and surges forward to kiss him. Hux isn’t entirely certain he doesn’t lean in to meet him halfway, years of loneliness and missed chances and bitterness coming to a head in swipes of tongue and clashing of teeth.

Hux scrambles for the bottom of Ren’s sleep tunic while Ren pushes the black dyed wool cloak from his narrow shoulders, knotted silver clasp falling heavily into the blankets. Ren reaches next for the series of laces down Hux’s sides that hold leather tight across his body, impatiently ripping the cords from their respective grommets, loosening to expose milky skin and silver scars hiding beneath.

Hux shivers as his armor is peeled away, revealing him to Ren, and those work roughened fingers he remembers so well trail across each newly exposed piece, seemingly reacquainting himself with Hux’s body through worshipping touches. Ren dips his head to kiss at Hux’s hip as he strips the leggings from his long legs, following them down with his lips, over his thigh, across his calf, lingering on his slim ankle with eyes pressed closed like he’s committing the feel of it to memory.

“Ren,” Hux whispers in spite of himself, the plea in it immediately bringing the man back up into his arms. “I came here _—_ ” He’s hushed by another kiss, Ren either disbelieving or unwilling to face what could soon be his fate.

He nudges Hux’s thighs open, settling between them, and reaches for the rickety bedside table, noisily shuffling around its contents until he produces a tiny vial of herbal oil. Hux hears the pop of the cork stopper being pulled out, hissing on instinct as it is poured over his hole but the slickness of it is surprisingly warm. He briefly wonders if Ren had heated it with magicka _—_ it seems the sort of tender, sentimental thing he would do.

One finger breaches him, joined by another when prompted by an impatient whine. “I wasn’t made of porcelain then and I’m not now, Ren. We haven’t got time for _—_ ”

“What’s the rush? We’ve waited so long...” Ren presses his forehead to Hux’s, humid breath mingling between them as his fingers slip out, push back in, twisting gently and searching.

Hux swallows hard, guilty gaze fixated on the ceiling, unable and unwilling to again repeat his mission. He loops his arms around Ren’s neck to pull his head into the crook of his neck, giving himself over to the moment, determined to enjoy it and then carry out the contract after. Later. Eventually.

“Fuck me like you used to,” he implores, eager for the distraction.

Ren laughs against his skin, dragging his teeth up the delicate line of his neck then pressing soothing kisses to the streaks of red left behind. “Like awkward teenagers rubbing against one another behind my family’s barn when I was Ben and you were Armie?”

“Don’t _—_ ”

“Like sneaking you up to my room, quick and dirty, my hand over your mouth to keep you quiet?”

“Yes _—_ ”

“Or like meeting up in an inn somewhere no one would think to look for us and we have the whole night to ourselves?”

He’s looking at Hux so expectantly, Hux averts his eyes and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, playing at shyness to hide his heartbreak. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Contracts were supposed to be completed efficiently and indifferently. This moral war he’s waging with himself can only be a test of loyalty sent from Sithis Himself.

“Just fuck me, Ren.” His voice sounds weak even to his own ears, and Ren must find some meaning in that for he gasps softly and wastes no more time, replacing his fingers with his cock. He leans his forehead into Hux’s once more, eyes closed, bottom lip trembling with the effort of self restraint as he draws his hips slowly back and rolls them forward again, controlled as if he’s afraid Hux will shatter beneath him.

Hux almost wishes he would.

 _-What is the color of night?_ _Sanguine, my brother.-_

Hux has always been good at setting aside cumbersome attachment when the moment calls for it, at putting on a mask of indifference and biding his time to execute whatever order has been assigned. He closes his eyes, regulates his breathing, curls his fingers sweetly around the top of the sheets… and waits. Waits for Ren’s shoulders to slump comfortably into the mattress, for breaths to turn to rumbling snores, sated, exhausted.

He looks happy in his sleep, eyes crinkled at the corners, lips upturned just a little.

Hux reaches for the knife that had clattered earlier to the floor, eyes shifting back to find his lover in the dark, catching on the pulse thumping at his throat.

_-What is the gift of death? Solace, my brother.-_

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [twitter @h311cat](https://twitter.com/h311cat) or on [tumblr](https://h3llcat.tumblr.com).


End file.
